


Unfinished writing bits - inc. abandoned omni sequel

by lifevolutionary



Series: Omni & extras [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Supernatural, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, M/M, Reincarnation, Temporary Amnesia, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifevolutionary/pseuds/lifevolutionary
Summary: I asked a few months ago if people wanted to see the sequel to omni that I started writing in 2010/2011 and never finished. Some people did, so here it is. Since I was posting an unfinished fic anyway I decided to put up some other bits and pieces I've attempted to write in the last 10 years and not finished. So If you enjoy my writing and don't mind reading unfinished fic, check out the rest of this work as well.Fair warning, most of this is time travel fix-it (because I have a problem) and most of them didn't get very far. But I like them so here they are. Each chapter is labelled with fandom and pairing.Chapter 1: Omni sequel - Memories of Battles Lost and Won (SPN G/S D/C)Chapter 2: Kith & Kin AU - Past Imperfect (SPN G/S D/C)Chapter 3: Hobbit time travel - If at first you don't succeed (The Hobbit B/T)Chapter 4: Hobbit reincarnation (short) - Swords Entwined (The Hobbit B/T)Chapter 5: Kingsman time travel (short) - Option 3: f**king time travel (Kingsman E/H)
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Series: Omni & extras [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025563
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	1. Omni sequel - Memories of Battles Lost and Won (SPN G/S D/C)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here it is, the sequel to omni that I started writing in 2010/2011 and never finished. Fair warning, this is never going to be finished and I haven't edited this. It is a cliche fluff fest with the barest hint of plot (I know, how's that any different than anything else I write? shh), you have been warned. This also includes bullet points at the end outlining the rest of the scenes I planned to write to finish it.
> 
> If you enjoy my writing and don't mind reading unfinished fic, check out the rest of this work for other bits and pieces I've attempted to write in the last 10 years and not finished.

Doctor Alex Crawley was having a very weird day. 

It'd started out normally enough, but then he'd answered an emergency call for an unconscious John Doe. The man had no ID, no anything, except a single car key tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket, lacking anything so useful as an identifying keyring. He'd been cut about enough to require stitches, burnt but not enough to require skin grafts and the persistent unconsciousness was worrying. The injuries themselves weren't too strange though. This was Detroit after all, Alex had seen a lot worse in his time at the hospital, especially these days. What _was_ strange was the brand; livid, angry red burned into his patient’s shoulder in the shape of a hand-print.

That and the x-rays of his ribs, which Alex was putting down to some weird sort of malfunction of the x-ray machine. There was _no way_ anyone could have patterns physically carved into their bones. Not to that extent.

His day was about to get stranger.

Doctor Simmons was in the break room, feet up on the table, coffee cup cradled between her hands, gossiping with Nurse Porter. Alex meant to ignore them, brush past to get to the kettle and then keep his back to them so he could pretend he was alone. Bethany Simmons got on his nerves.

“- right there between his shoulder blades. Gave me the surprise of my life, I can tell you.” Bethany was saying as he walked past.

Porter was looking sceptical, “Branding's not common on it's own and... really, a hand-print? Not just a weird looking burn?”

Alex froze and then spun to stare at them. They both gave him weird looks but he didn't notice. “You had a patient with a hand shaped brand?”

“Yeees,” She answered, the unspoken _what's it to you_ clear.

“Was he a John Doe with persistent unconsciousness, lacerations and burns by any chance?” Alex asked, because there was something about this case that was pushing not only all his 'this is freaky' buttons but also his 'curiosity' buttons and even a conversation with Bethany Simmons was worth it find out more.

“Have you been looking at my case notes?” Bethany narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Did you do an x-ray?” He shot back, running two fingers over his chest above his ribs. He knew she wouldn't put that in her case notes, just like he hadn't. Her eyes widened and he knew she'd found the same thing he had, no matter how impossible.

“How do you know about...?”

“Because I had a John Doe today that matched that description exactly, right down to the hand-print shaped brand, only his was here.” He put his hand over his shoulder, imitating his John Doe's injury.

“You think they're connected?”

“You think they aren't?” Alex snapped back because, really.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes at him then turned away, obviously trying dismiss his presence. “Then you should get them put in the same room. Maybe it'll encourage them to wake up.”

Sam

He woke up.

The first thing he noticed was that he hurt. Sharp pains over his arms and legs and deep aches in his muscles, not quite eclipsed by the fiery burning coming from between his shoulder blades. When he tried to open his eyes he had to squint at first against the light.

When he could finally look around he tried to figure out where he was. The white, sterile walls, the monitors around his bed, the bandages he could see on his arms...they all meant something. There was another bed in the room, the man in it appeared to be asleep and he was also covered in bandages, white against his tanned, bruised skin.

 _Hospital_ something in his head finally whispered to him, but he couldn't remember how or why he'd come to be there, he couldn't remember... He couldn't remember his name.

His thoughts started rushing, frantically, trying to remember, reaching for anything in his head that might be useful. It was like trying to stretch for something just out of his grasp, he couldn't-

 _Amnesia_. He clenched his fists, ignoring the pain. Why could he remember that - what this thing that had scoured his brain was called – but not his own name?

He slumped, despairing at the emptiness of his mind even as the pain subsided, tense muscles relaxing. He looked around again, wincing at the stiffness in his neck, turning so he could focus better on the other bed. He wondered bitterly if he should recognise the man with short blond hair and freckles across his nose.

~*~

_He was dreaming. For a moment he knew that before the knowledge was drowned in the dream itself._

Gabriel was nervous. It was kind of freaking Sam out. He didn't think he'd ever seen Gabriel nervous before but it had been a low grade buzz in the background of their telepathic link all day. Gabriel had been trying to hide it, and trying to hide that he was hiding it, so Sam had ignored it until now. But it had only got worse once they were back in their room alone. Sam finally snapped.

“Okay, seriously, what's up with you? You've been twitchy all day.” Gabriel jerked around to stare at him and when an indecisive expression crossed his face Sam folded his arms impatiently.

Gabriel bit his lip and then said, _”Oh, screw it,”_ across their link, though his tone suggested he was mainly talking to himself, before dragging Sam down for a fierce kiss. When he pulled away he looked determined. “Will you bond with me?”

Sam frowned at him, _”I thought we were already bonded?”_

Gabriel shook his head, “Not like a Sword bearer's bond, I mean like a lovers bond, a,” Gabriel grimaced, “Soul-mates bond, for lack of a better word. Bearing someone's Sword isn't necessarily a romantic thing. It's more like trust, family, someone you'll give your life to protect. If you and Dean had been angels you probably would have been each other's Bearers. A lovers bond is more like the angel equivalent of being married.”

“Gabriel, are you proposing to me?” Sam grinned at him, delighted. “Of course, I'll bond with you.” This time it was Sam who initiated the kiss, _“but I didn't know there were different kinds of bonds, you should have told me.”_

Gabriel pulled away, his expression surprised. “Cas never told you guys? Well, no wonder he and Dean took so long to get their act to together.” Sam gave him a questioning look and got grinned at in return. “That hand-print on Dean's shoulder is one half of an incomplete lovers bond.”

“Are you saying Dean and Cas have been angel-engaged all this time and Cas never told him?”

“Uh-huh.” And he looked so smugly happy that Sam had to kiss him again and once they were kissing Sam wasn't going to stop. He never wanted to stop kissing Gabriel, never wanted to stop touching, never wanted to pull away once the bond they already shared was open and it was hard to tell where Sam stopped and Gabriel began. For Sam the idea of a lovers bond entwining him even tighter with Gabriel was just even more incentive to take Gabriel apart till he as wrecked and gasping, to show him how much Sam wanted it.

Afterwards, when Gabriel was curled against Sam's side, naked and satisfied and they were both already almost half asleep, Sam asked, “So how do we do it, get angel-married?”

Gabriel hummed happily into the skin of his shoulder, “First you need to decide where you want your mark, the traditional place or somewhere odd like your brother has.”

“Where's the traditional place?” Sam asked and Gabriel answered by lifting a hand and reaching round to fit it between Sam's shoulder-blades, palm flat against Sam's skin. “Huh,” Sam shifted the arm that he'd been using to hold Gabriel close so he could imitate the gesture, “Right between your wings.”

Gabriel, who'd closed his eyes when Sam positioned his hand, asked, “Are you sure about this, Sammy? If you say yes you're really never getting rid of me.”

Sam used his free hand to take hold of Gabriel's chin and pull his face up, making Gabriel's eyes snap open. He smiled into that golden gaze and said firmly, “Yes, Gabriel.”

“Then close your eyes.” Gabriel ordered and as Sam obeyed he felt that cold electric tingle that he'd come to associate with Gabriel's grace sear his back and the palm of his hand. There was a flash of light that he could see through his eyelids.

_Disorientated, still halfway between sleeping and waking, he was sure despite what his common sense was telling him that that had been more than a dream, it had been a memory. As he slid fully into wakefulness he tried to recall the details but they slipped away from him, blurred by early morning sunlight and pain._

Dean

He woke up because someone was moving about. The noise startled him into tense alertness and he wondered again who he must be to have instincts that saw danger in every foreign sound. Maybe military.

Make that _almost_ every foreign sound because now that he was awake the shuffling and rustling he could hear was actually calming him. He could feel himself relaxing, his strained muscles protesting the release of tension just as much as its acquisition.

He finally opened his eyes to find the source of the noise. The man who'd been asleep in the other bed - he breathed an internal sigh of relief that he could remember at least that much, that the last day or so since he'd first woken here hadn't disappeared during the night – he was now up and moving around; slowly due his injuries. He wondered again if he was supposed to know him, if maybe that was why the sound of him fussing around was calming.

He appeared to be trying to sort out his bed so he could lie on his front without getting all the wires they had attached to them tangled. It seemed like a stupid idea considering the guy's injuries. 

“Why are you doing that?” His voice came out croaky and unused and sounded different than he'd expected, “The burns'll hurt just as much lying on your front.”

The man, who'd been in the middle of unbuttoning his hospital pyjama top, looked over at him, startled. His eyes looked huge in a face that seemed a lot paler than it should be and there was a bandage running all the way down the left side of his neck.

“The burns aren't what hurts the most.” He let the unbuttoned top slide off his arms, revealing a large pad of bandages between his shoulder-blades that he reached for with a wince, “This is.” He pulled away the bandages revealing an angry red shape branded into his skin. A hand-print.

He automatically reached for his shoulder and his own brand, painful under it's bandages. The other man made a face as he tried to peer over his own shoulder. “Lying on it was stopping me sleeping.” He apparently noticed that he was being stared at. “I know, it's a strange injury. I have no idea how I got it.”

“That's not the strange thing.” He told the man, reaching for his own top and unbuttoning it far enough to pull it off his shoulder. This time he was on the receiving end of a confused look but that changed to surprise when he pulled the bandage off to display his brand.

“Ouch, does mine look that bad?” The man asked and then winced when the answer he received was a head tipped to the side with an expression that was intended to say _pretty much, yeah._ “No wonder it hurts. Do you know how...?” He trailed off.

“Nope. Can't remember anything about myself before waking up here. The doctor said I was found unconscious. Brought here cause I was pretty beaten up and had no ID on me but I don't know one way from another.” He looked expectantly at the other guy who was making an annoyed face.

“That's pretty much exactly what the doctor said about me. I can't remember anything about myself but I can remember that that means I've got amnesia. I mean, I should probably know you,” He made a vague gesture that took in branded shoulder and back, “But there's nothing.” He clenched his hands into fists against his sheets as he climbed back onto his bed, this time on his front. “It's really frustrating.”

“I'm right with you there.” He sighed and relaxed back from where he'd half sat up to show his brand. The cool air against the livid red skin now he'd removed the bandage, felt good so he decided to leave it that way for now.

“The doctors did say they think I might be religious.” The other man spoke up again.

He turned back to frown at the other bed, “Why?” That didn't sound right somehow, he wasn't sure why.

“Apparently, when they were treating my injuries I muttered a name every time they tried to touch the brand.” His hand inched across his shoulder-blades towards it, apparently unconsciously.

“What name?” He asked, raising curious eyebrows.

“Gabriel. I kept calling out for Gabriel.”

~*~

_He was having another dream. He wondered if the man with the hand-print brand between his shoulder-blades would be in it again. He hoped the man with the unbelievably blue eyes would be. Awareness faded into memory._

Finding the door to Sam and Gabriel's hotel room unlocked, Dean pushed his way in. If there'd been something going on inside that he would rather claw his eyes out than see, it would have been locked. Unfortunately, while not brain breaking the view wasn't one he particularly wanted to be confronted with early in the morning.

Sam was sat in front of his computer with his shirt off. Dean made a face at his brother that Sam didn't see, as Cas followed him into the room and shut the door.

“Dude, what's with the lack of shirts. It's really not that warm in here.” 

Sam replied absently without glancing up from his screen. “Gabriel said leaving the mark exposed to the air would make it heal faster.”

Dean stared at him, incredulous, sure he couldn't have heard that right. “Would make _what_ heal faster?” If the archangelic bastard had hurt his little brother there was going to be hell to pay.

This time Sam did look up, their presence seeming to sink in for the first time. “Oh, uh, this.” Sam stood and turned around, displaying his back and the painful looking mark now burned between his shoulder-blades. Dean's hand went instinctively to his own mark where Cas' hand-print was branded into his shoulder and then he glanced over at Cas, wondering if the angel knew any better than he did what was going on. Cas' eyes were wide; surprised and...worried, in fact he looked slightly fearful and that couldn't be right. Dean tried to open the link between them that came from Bearing Cas' Sword but found it blocked from Cas' end. Dean frowned but Cas' secrets could wait, temporarily giving up on trying to figure Cas out he focused his attention back on Sam.

“Why have you suddenly decided that branding is great idea. I thought you grew out of imitating everything I did when you were fifteen?”

Sam turned back to them but glanced at Cas almost nervously before he spoke, as if he knew what that weird look on Cas' face meant. There was something going on here, some secret that everyone seemed to know except him and if he didn't find out what it was soon he was going to get seriously pissed off.

Gabriel chose that moment to zap in and interrupt. “Did you find somewhere-?” He noticed Dean and Cas. “Oh, hey guys, guess what?” Bouncing slightly and grinning happily at them. He was also shirtless, which really, Dean never needed to see, and was carrying a couple of bags that he now dropped at his feet.

“I guess that you better explain to me what's going on right freaking now.” Dean snapped out, glaring.

Gabriel plastered a fake hurt expression across his face. “Now Dean, is that any way to talk to your new brother-in-law?”

“What?” Seriously, what? Had Sam proposed to Gabriel or something? Because if he had then obviously Dean needed to remind him about telling Dean about life changing shit like that beforehand.

Gabriel grinned at him again and twisted round. Right there between his shoulder-blades, in exactly the same place as Sam's, was a hand-print brand. Spanning a considerable amount of Gabriel's skin because Sam's hands were larger than Gabriel's, or Cas' for that matter. That thought dragged Dean's attention back to Cas in time to hear him make a small shocked noise, almost distressed sounding and the look on Cas' face when Dean glanced over seemed almost...hungry.

What?

While Dean was getting increasingly more confused, Gabriel had wandered over to stand next to Sam. Casting smirks in Cas and Dean's direction that Dean had learned to be wary of.

“You found somewhere?” Gabriel asked Sam as he dropped down into Sam's abandoned chair and leant back against Sam's legs. Dean could tell that was a deliberate PDA for his benefit but he wasn't sure why; no-one was answering him and Gabriel was the only one who'd look him in the eye. That was never a good sign. Gabriel peered at Sam's still open laptop. “Oh, New Zealand. Good choice, I approve.”

Sam was grinning now, that wide, blinding smile that even Dean hardly ever saw and it made him relax slightly. Sam wouldn't fake that. It must be something good then, this thing that they weren't telling him. Maybe Sam really had proposed, which, okay, Dean wasn't going to think about too hard because he'd rather not acquire any more Sam-related metal scarring any time this decade. Or ever, really, but he would never be that lucky.

“Will _someone_ please start answering my questions?” Dean was aiming for pissed off, it came out slightly more whiny than intended so he folded his arms for good measure.

Gabriel had that look on his face again, the one that said _I know something you don't and telling you is gonna be great fun. For me._ “Me and Sammy got angel-married.” Gabriel reached over his own shoulder to gesture at the brand in the same way a human newly-wed would wave a wedding ring. “So don't have any emergencies in the next week 'cos we're going on our honeymoon.” Gabriel stood, sliding an arm around Sam's waist as he did so, like it belonged there. “Castiel knows how to contact me if anything really serious comes up.” 

Then he raised his hand to snap. He and Sam disappeared in the middle of Sam jauntily waving goodbye and when Dean spun to look, the bags Gabriel had snapped in with were also gone.

He turned back to Cas with a silent, explanation-demanding glare. 

Cas made what, for him, was an expressively uncomfortable face and dropped a lot more gracelessly than normal into a suddenly appearing armchair. As he gestured for Dean to do the same with his own newly summoned chair Dean reflected that Gabriel was being a really bad influence on his Cas.

Then Dean felt the bond between them open up again, letting all of Cas' tangled up emotions tumble through and Dean stopped thinking about trivialities for a while.

The explanation took rather a long time. Dean kept interrupting and Cas kept trying to steer the conversation away from the fact that Dean had been wandering around with an angel engagement brand on his shoulder without knowing. Occasionally Dean let him.

After a distraction that had got particularly out of control, Dean glared down at his hand as he ran it over the pale skin of Cas' hip. “So what does this extra bond shit mean for Sam. He ain't going to grow wings or anything, right?”

Cas snorted – really bad influence, Dean thought again - “Of course not. Nothing could make him an angel, not even this most intimate of bonds. It will strengthen their telepathic and emotional bond and enhance their awareness of each other.” Cas turned into Dean's continued touch and sighed contentedly. “For Sam it will mean slower ageing, faster healing and immunity from angelic powers.” Dean's hand stilled.

“Whoa, hold up. Immunity? How much immunity? I mean Lucy's still been trying to get at Sam in his sleep right? Gabe's been having to fight him off. So does that stop now?”

“Yes, that will stop now. Though Gabriel thinks that Lucifer will not be able to tell the difference between Gabriel intentionally guarding Sam's mind and the bond's protection.”

“Gabriel's been talking to you about this?”

“He has, though I had thought the conversation to be purely theoretical. Obviously, I was wrong.” The slight tightening around Cas' eyes was the only indication that this pained him. Dean still wasn't quite sure why.

“And you guys were having this conversation, why exactly?”

“Because it gives us a considerable advantage.” Dean frowned, he wasn't quite sure 'considerable' was the right word. Cas obviously sensed his confusion because he elaborated in an irritated tone. “Dean. Lucifer can no longer possess Sam, permission or no.”

_This time the disorientation was less, the dream sharper and more real. Must remember. Remember. Sam, brother. Gabriel, brother-in-law. Castiel, lover. Dean, self. Sam, Gabe, Cas, Dean. Cas, Dean. Dean...Details faded at the edges but didn't vanish and frustration was edged out by confusion in the moment after waking._

Sam

Struggling back to consciousness Sam felt different. It took him a moment to realise it was because he could remember his name. Or, at least, he could remember the name he had thought of himself by in those dreams that felt impossibly like memories.

It seemed right though. 

Sam; thinking of himself like that gave him the feeling of sinking further back inside his own skin than he'd been since he'd woken up in hospital.

amnesia!Sam – remembering stuff from the dreams. Doesn't think he's religious, thinks he's gay and remembers his name is Sam  
Dream!Sam - Gabriel tells Sam about the plan, Sam twigs that Gabriel has been planning this and baulks because he thinks Gabe just married him because it makes him un-possessable. Gabe explains that the bond wouldn't have worked without both parties being equally committed  
amnesia!Dean – doctor comes to see them  
Dream!Dean - Dean gives Cas matching brand so they are fully bonded  
amnesia!Sam – realising that he's healing too quickly and that there's something missing/tugging at him  
Dream!Sam - battle with Lucy – longest flashback which ends with Gabe and Cas trapped in holy fire and Sam and Dean doing a hail mary last attempt to kill Luci  
amnesia!Dean wakes Sam, they realise they're dreaming about same people and decide they need to leave the hospital to find out if the memories are real, Dean steals some clothes for them/retrieves his jacket w/ Impala key, convo about not believing the memories, share info about off-camera dreams/reactions  
amnesia!Sam - convinces Dean that they should follow the tugging feeling, trip in the Impala to warehouse where the fight took place, memories of Impala trips. When they get to the warehouse they find Gabe and Cas trapped and Luci dead.  
Gabe POV - convincing amnesia!Sam and amnesia!Dean to let them out of the fire. Once the circle is broken all of Sam and Dean’s memories come back at once leading to sappy reunion ending


	2. Kith & Kin AU - Past Imperfect (SPN G/S D/C)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU of my own fanfic series. Gabe sends Joanna and Robert back in time but not to kill Lucifer.
> 
> _“I'm sorry I can't explain, kids,” he said, smiling faintly, “but I'll see you on the flip-side.” His hands shot up and before either of them could react he touched two fingers to each of their foreheads._
> 
> _The world moved into darkness._

It was an accepted fact in the Winchester family that whenever they were together in groups of more than, well, one, at some point there would be bickering.

Robert Winchester sat at the kitchen table, smiling as he carefully cleaned blood off his sword and listened to his dad and his cousin argue about the importance of proper research. It was a popular topic between the two of them.

“You didn't even know what it was you were going after this time.” His dad chided.

Joanna rolled her eyes and carried on packing away her knives. “We had a good idea.”

“No, you had a guess. That turned out to be wrong.” Robert looked up to see Dad pulling his looming act; crossing his arms and glaring down at the top of Joanna's head. “What if it had turned out to be something you couldn't kill?”

Finally looking away from her weaponry, Joanna raised her eyebrows, “Seriously, Uncle Sam. You of all people should know just how unlikely it is that we'll ever meet anything that one of these,” She flicked her hand out and the sword that was her birth-right as the half-human child of an Angel materialised in her hand. She gave a practised twist of the wrist that left it resting comfortably against her shoulder. “Can't at least fight off. You were the one who did all the research about them, after all.”

Dad frowned, “You shouldn't rely-” Joanna cut him off, completing his sentence for him.

“-On just one weapon.” Robert muttered along with her under his breath. Which earned him a conspiratorial grin from Joanna before she continued, banishing her sword back into the aether as she spoke.

“I know, so we've been told continuously by you and Dad and Father. But I still don't understand why it applies to a weapon as kick-ass as our swords.”

Robert never found out what his dad's response to that would have been this time. The argument was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the family. Uncle Dean, the first one in through the door, grinned hugely at them.

“Hey, kids. How'd the hunt go?”

“Awesome,” said Robert, finishing up with his own sword and banishing it to wherever it was that the swords went when they didn't need them. “One dead monster, no dead civilians and not a scratch on us.” He grinned at them. “Textbook.”

“Really? Good on you.” Uncle Dean reached out and ruffled Joanna's hair. Making her swat at him and duck away, laughing.

Uncle Cas watched them with proud eyes and an indulgent smile for a moment before he spoke to Robert. “Yes, it is good you are less inclined than your dads are to getting grievously injured.”

“Hey!”

Robert laughed at his uncles' antics but his amusement faded as he noticed that his father wasn't smiling. “Papa, is something wrong?”

His father smiled then but Robert could tell it was forced. “I need to talk to you kids about something. In private.”

Joanna stepped around the table to stand next to Robert, frowning. “Uncle Gabriel? Why-”

“Oh, just go with him.” Uncle Dean flopped down at the table and started rearranging Joanna's knives. She glared but didn't stop him, they all knew by now that he'd only start again once she was out of the room. “He's been a bastard all day.”

“Dean!” The sharp rebuke came from Dad but everyone ignored him. Including Uncle Dean who continued speaking as if there'd been no interruption.

“He won't tell us anything and he won't be happy till he tells _someone._ ”

Papa rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand, “It's none of your business Dean-o. So,” He glanced between Robert and Joanna, “You gonna come hear what I've got to say?”

“Uh, sure.” When Robert looked at his cousin she just shrugged. He followed his father into the living room, frowning at the uncharacteristic tension he could see in his father's shoulders.

“Papa? Seriously, what's going on?”

With his back still to them his father sighed and when he turned round he looked...sad. It wasn't an expression Robert was used to seeing on his ex-Trickster father's face.

“I'm sorry I can't explain, kids,” he said, smiling faintly, “but I'll see you on the flip-side.” His hands shot up and before either of them could react he touched two fingers to each of their foreheads.

The world moved into darkness.

~*~ ~*~

Joanna blinked, blinked again just to make sure, then grabbed Robert's arm and dragged him out of the middle of the road.

“What the fuck just happened?” She looked around as she asked, cataloguing every person in their immediate vicinity, checking for threats. She didn't find any but something was definitely off; the clothes looked wrong, the cars as well. They were the obvious things but there were subtle differences too, nothing quite fit the way it was supposed to.

Robert hadn't replied so she turned to look at him. He had a weird expression on his face. Part disbelief, part confusion and part that inward focus he got when he was listening to those archangelic instincts of his.

“Robert?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Talk to me.”

He blinked and then refocused on her. “We've travelled in time.” Joanna felt her eyebrows go up, unable to keep the incredulous expression off her face, “I know, I know.” Robert answered her unspoken disbelief, his hands making placating gestures. “But really, I can feel it, sense it. Where we are and where we should be and sort of how it fits together.”

“Can you get us back?”

“Um, maybe?” He was using those worried puppy-dog eyes of his. Dad always maintained that Uncle Sam must have spent Robert's formative years teaching him how to use them to full effect.

“That's a no then. I'm not trusting either of us to the tender mercies of the space-time continuum with an 'um, maybe'.”

“Should we even try to get back?” She frowned at him. “Papa obviously sent us here for a reason, right? It makes sense that once we've done whatever it is that we need to do here he'll bring us back home. Send us back home, whatever. Time-travel is going to make verb tenses complicated.”

Joanna ignored that last observation from her best friend; the language geek. He did make a good point though. “What do you think we're here to do then? When are we anyway?”

“A couple of years before you're due to be born, as far as I can make out. Maybe that's what we're here for, maybe we're supposed to play match-maker to your Dads.” Robert grinned at her, wide and mischievous, “Papa always says they needed a good hard hit with a clue-by-four before they got with the program.”

Joanna shuddered, “Please, don't. I thought we'd agreed not to discuss things like that? The parents scar me for life enough as it is without you helping.”

“Well, whatever we're here for, I bet you the parents will be around here somewhere.” His eyes widened and then he grimaced. “Damn, that means I'm going to have to suppress our grace before Papa spots us, I hate having to do that. Unless you think we should tell them who we are?” He sounded hopeful, Joanna kinda hated to have to burst his bubble.

“Probably not a good idea, at least, not until we have a better idea of why Uncle Gabriel sent us here.”

Robert's shoulders slumped. “Fine,” He raised a hand to touch Joanna's forehead and hesitated, “That means we won't be able to use our swords.”

It was Joanna's turn to grimace, she was just glad Uncle Sam wasn't here to say I told you so. “I know, we'll just have to deal. Although, you should probably mojo up some gear for us before you, you know.” She made a squashing motion with her hands.

“Right.” They retreated into the nearest alleyway so he could start clicking stuff into existence, Joanna checking everything as he went. When there were two full duffle-bags sitting in front of them Robert asked sarcastically, “Anything else, your high and mighty pickyness?” She'd made him re-do her knives three times before he got them right.

“Yeah,” She grinned at him wickedly as he rolled his eyes, “Click us up some bikes.”

Uncle Gabriel had been the one to introduce them to motorbikes. Mainly, Joanna was sure, to piss of Dad, but then Joanna and Robert had both fallen hard for the thrill of riding. Probably because it reminded them of flying. It had amused Uncle Gabriel no end, made both their human dads kind of apoplectic and made Father give them all that look that said he was fairly sure he was the only sane one in the family. Much as Joanna loved the Impala, neither she nor Robert had ever looked back.

When he was done Joanna tapped her forehead meaningfully. He made that 'bitch, please' face that was another one Dad said came straight from Uncle Sam but he reached out and she braced herself. She didn't hate having her grace suppressed as much as Robert did. Probably because he was easily ten times as powerful as she was and still reasonably high up the angel food chain even though he was half-human, whereas she was right at the bottom. But that didn't mean having a part of her, as integral to her sense of self as her hands or her memories, squashed up really small and locked away was a particularly pleasant experience. Even if she could get it back with a quick mental poke in the right place.

“What first?” Robert asked as he pulled his hand back. “Find a motel to stay in or go parents hunting right now?” As he spoke his eyes dulled from their usual golden colour to a sort of pale muddy brown. She knew if she looked in a mirror right now her own wouldn't be the same bright, bright blue they usually were either. Grace wasn't supposed to produce any physical manifestation but eyes didn't hide much.

Joanna slid a disguised sword sheath, holding a plain, ordinary sword with none of the extra angelic kick that they were used to in a blade, into place across her back then settled her pack over it. “Motel. Because first we need to do a little research and see if there's anything they could be here to hunt.”

“Okay, then,” Robert, who'd settled his own gear, slid onto his bike and hit the kick-start, “Let's get going.”

As Joanna followed him out onto the road she looked around at what a sign told her was the Morning Hill community. Noting it's apparent cheerfulness, she wondered what was lurking beneath the surface.

~*~ ~*~

They didn't find anything in the papers.

Unfortunately that meant that their plan now pretty much consisted of wandering around randomly, hoping to spot someone they knew.

Joanna sighed and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she slouched along. This was stupid, they didn't even know what they were here for, if it was even anything to do with their parents. They could hang around this place forever looking for the wrong thing and they wouldn't even know it. Thanks Uncle Gabriel, she grouched in the privacy of her head, for leaving us completely in the dark.

She glanced around again just in case and froze at the sight of one particular man. He'd just exited the hardware store and was now chatting companionably to a blonde woman. Joanna had noted her earlier walking down the street with a baby in a stroller.

“I'm going to need new clothes.” Her voice sounded distant. Robert, who'd frowned at her sudden stillness, snorted.

“Seriously, you don't think you're rocking the retro look enough already?”

She laughed, slightly hysterically. “Find the one person on this street who's dressed almost exactly like me and then tell me I don't need new clothes.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look round frowning. She could tell the exact moment Robert spotted him; all the blood drained out of his face.

“You need new clothes.” His voice was flat. “That's Uncle Dean.”

“Yep.”

“I know when we were little you always said you wanted to _be_ him when you grew up but don't you think this is taking the mimicry a bit too far?” Now his voice held suppressed laughter. She hit him.

“We've got to follow him. Without him seeing us and without using our grace, just in case Father is around here somewhere. You up to it?”

“Are you kidding me? He'll spot us in a nanosecond.”

“Yeah, I know,” she made a face, “But we've got to try.”

~*~ ~*~

He didn't spot them. It was that, more than anything else that told Robert something was seriously wrong. His dad they may have had a chance at following. If they had their grace suppressed Papa and Uncle Cas would be easy, especially Uncle Cas. Uncle Dean? Never; he was far too good at what he did and more than a little paranoid.

Uncle Dean should have seen them the first time they followed him round a corner. He shouldn't have obliviously let them follow him all the way to his destination. They hid across the street from the unassuming suburban home that Uncle Dean had just let himself into and looked at each other in bemusement.

“Maybe the house belongs to someone involved in a hunt.” Robert suggested.

“So why does he have a key?” Joanna didn't wait for him to answer. “He obviously lives here. Are you sure we've come back to before I was born? They started renting houses once I was born.”

“I'm sure,” Robert peered out from his hiding place and frowned, “There's a car pulling into the drive.”

“Is it Uncle Sam?” Joanna asked, staying hidden. Robert watched as a boy of about ten jumped out of the passenger side and ran in through the front door. When a familiar women got out of the driver's side he ducked back into hiding.

“No, but take a look at who it is and then please tell me I'm imagining things.” Joanna looked out and went pale. “I'm not imagining things am I?”

“No, that's Lisa.” She was frowning now, but it looked less like annoyed or confused and more like thoughtful.

“That means the kid must have been Ben. Oh, good Granddad, we're older than Ben.” He made a face. “That's freaky.”

Joanna snorted at him, “You think that's freaky? I'm only five or six years younger than Uncle Sam is right now.” She countered but she sounded like her attention was elsewhere.

Robert pulled a worse face, “Okay, point to you, that is freakier.” She didn't react, still frowning at the house. “Joanna?”

“I think I know when we are.” She hesitated. He made an interrogative sound to get her going again. “Remember what they told us about how they all met?”

“The Apocalypse? You think we've come back into the middle of the Apocalypse?”

“I think we've come back to just after they stopped it.” Robert froze, not liking the implications of that one bit.

“You mean, while Uncle Cas was upstairs sorting out Heaven and Uncle Dean thought my Dads were both...?” He trailed off, not quite able to say it.

“Yeah. I mean, if he thought Father had abandoned him and that Uncle Sam was dead, I suppose Ben and Lisa would be the closest he had to family.”

“And we all know what your Dad's like about family.” Robert interjected.

“Exactly.” She paused, tapping her fingers absent-mindedly against her wrist where Robert knew one of her knives was concealed. “They never did tell us what happened back then. Just that it turned out no-one had died after all. End of story. Happily ever after.”

“You think that's because we had, have, will have,” he frowned as his words fumbled, time-travel made for complicated verb conjugation, “Something to do with it? That we're here to get them all back together as a family somehow?”

“It's beginning to look that way, yeah.” Joanna turned to him. Her face went from serious to amused as she looked herself over and then did the same to him. “But first, new clothes for me and you should probably have a hair cut.”

“What?” Robert exclaimed, grabbing at his hair protectively and glaring, “Why?”

“Because otherwise Dad's going to think Uncle Sam is back already when he sees you.”

Robert scowled, “I do not look like Dad!” It was a popular taunt in their household.

“Look, I _know_ you've seen the pictures of Uncle Sam when he was our age, so how can you still say that? I'm not kidding, you may act like Uncle Gabriel most of the time but you look like Uncle Sam and Dad's going to spot that.”

“So I'll dress different. I'm still not letting you anywhere near my hair with a pair of scissors.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' later.”

~*~ ~*~

They decided that the easiest way to insinuate themselves into the life of this younger version of Dean was to go hunting with him and the easiest way to do that was to wait for him to get in trouble and then jump in and save the day.

Because if there was one thing Joanna knew about her Dad, he would not be able to resist the urge to hunt for long, and without Father or Uncle Sam as back up, sooner or later he was going to get into trouble.

~*~ ~*~

So they waited.

They didn't have to wait long for him to go out hunting. It was an easy one though, so they just watched and kept waiting.

Robert unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth. Joanna, who'd turned to see what the rustling was, glared at him.

“Your pockets are full of sweets, aren't they?” He just grinned at her until she rolled her eyes and turned to face forward again. Watching as Uncle Dean finished digging out the grave and retrieved his can of lighter fluid.

When she stuck her hand out without looking at him, he dropped a piece of liquorice into her palm without having to be asked.

~*~ ~*~

They waited some more.

“I think we should get into the habit of using their actual names.” Robert commented absently as they watched another restless spirit vanquished. Joanna frowned at him, obviously not following his train of thought. “Well, when we do have to interact with him,” he gestured at Dean, “You can't exactly call him 'Dad' to his face.”

She stared at him for a silent moment, “Huh, okay point.”

“Look at it this way, they're pretty much two different people anyway; Dean is the one we're following now, Uncle Dean is the one in the future, probably yelling at Papa for losing us.”

“Right,” she was grinning at him even as she tried to sound serious, “Dean is not my Father, I'll try to remember that.” Ooh, there was a joke in there somewhere, he was sure. Joanna glanced back at him. “You're trying to make that into a Star Wars reference aren't you?”

“Totally, but it's not coming.” He mock scowled at her. “You need to work harder on the openings you pitch me.”

Joanna snorted at him, “I'll try to remember that too.”

~*~ ~*~

They waited even longer.

Which was surprising; neither of them had expected Dean to go this long without getting his ass into a fire he'd have trouble getting it out of. Joanna was beginning to think that maybe they needed a new plan. They were both getting bored and twitchy watching hunts they didn't get to participate in.

“How about Rodney?” Joanna tossed out absently as she disassembled her gun.

“No,” Robert was sulking, “I don't see why we can't just use our normal names.”

“Rory?”

“You're just going through names from all the sci-fi programs you've ever watched now, aren't you?”

She sighed and looked up at him, “We're going to seem weirdly familiar to him no matter what we do. We can at least make it not quite so obvious by turning up without names linked to his old girlfriends or Grandpa Bobby.”

“And we can't use a name from one of our fake IDs because...?”

“Because all our IDs are in names that are really obviously fake.” She re-ran than sentence in her head and corrected herself. “Names that would be really obviously fake to Dean, anyway.”

“Can I not just use Robbie?” He whined.

“I thought you hated that name?”

He made a face. “It's better than Roger.”

They both paused for a moment's thought. Joanna narrowed her eyes consideringly at him and said slowly, “How about Ross?”

“Huh,” Thank Granddad, he was actually thinking about it. Joanna had been running out of TV programs to go through. Luckily he didn't seem to realise that in desperation she'd just moved on to suggesting names from non-sci-fi TV shows. “That's actually not too bad. Ross Whistler, I like it.” They'd already decided on their surname a while ago. Joanna was still kinda bummed that they couldn't use 'Wesson'.

She let out a relieved sigh, “Well then, nice to meet you Ross Whistler, I hope I don't have to know you too long.”

Robert grinned his huge, happy, toothy grin at her, “Likewise, Jenny Whistler, likewise.”

~*~ ~*~

They finally hit pay dirt when Dean went after a nest of vampires, thinking there were only two when actually, there were more like half a dozen.

~*~ ~*~

Dean cursed violently at himself in the silence of his own head as he tried to figure out a way to get out of this mess alive. The empty warehouse the vampires had set up as a nest was a warren of partitioned rooms and junk. He'd managed to shake them off momentarily after killing one of them but unless he could get out soon the other five would find him again.

When his hastily planned escape route was suddenly blocked by a vampire he didn't know whether to consider himself lucky or not. One on it's own was better than the whole pack of them but still...

Dean jumped sideways as the vampire lunged, just managing to avoid her outstretched hands. As he swung his knife – taken from a dead angel at some point during the apocalypse and kept, first out of spite and then because it worked – around to try and get a good angle on her heart he realised why he'd thought there were only two vampires here; the others hadn't fed recently. That made them weaker. It diminished any of their powers more complex than brute strength to almost nothing.

If he could get out of here without running into either of the two that had been out killing people he might have a chance.

He managed to pin one of her arms to the wall long enough to get the knife through her defences and into her chest. Only then did he reach for the machete strapped to his back and taking her head off with one swing. That was what Dean hated about these vampires. You had to stake them first.

Dean bent to pull the knife out of the vampire's now lifeless chest. Froze as another one appeared round the corner, obviously alerted by the noise. It was one of the pair of vampires he'd followed back here.

Damn.

Dean stood, knife in one hand and machete in the other. He stared back at the furiously sneering vampire defiantly. When you've faced down the Devil nothing else was really going to scare you. Dean was used to punching above his weight.

 _Cas,_ He thought as loudly, _Now would be a great time for a visit. I could do with a bit of help here._

He dodged the first punch from the vampire but only just. His knife was deflected, only scoring a shallow cut on the vampire's arm. He dodged again but this time the blow caught him on the side of the head and sent him sprawling. On the floor, looking up at the very smug vampire as he scrabbled for the knife that had been knocked out of his hand, he called out to Cas again and hoped.

His mental plea was answered a second later but not by Cas.

The vampire's face suddenly morphed into pained shock and Dean watched him look down at his chest. Where there was now at least six inches of steel protruding. A familiar human shape standing behind the vampire yanked the sword back out of the chest and immediately cut the vampire's head off with one graceful sweep.

Dean stayed where he was, temporarily immobilised in shock and gaped at his rescuer. “Sam?” He asked, incredulously.

Sam, the being that looked like Sam, jerked as if startled. Then he, it, stepped forward into the dim light of the grime covered windows.

“Um, hello. Are you all right?” The voice wasn't quite right; both familiar and not. Now Dean could see the thing, young man, properly the features were like that too; eyes and hair too pale, nose too sharp and mouth too thin. Though in silhouette he'd been eerily similar. “Did any of them get you?”

Dean scrambled to his feet, machete and knife still in his hands just in case, even though his instincts weren't giving off any warnings. In fact, maybe because of that. Considering his life, he should have felt a lot more wary of this kid than he was. Especially taking into account how comfortably he was holding a blood darkened sword.

“I'm fine.” Dean returned the machete to its place on his back and tried to listen. Finish the job first, grill unlikely and weirdly familiar looking rescuer later once he was sure neither of them was going to end up as a vampire's dinner. “There were other vampires, did you see them on your way in?”

The guy nodded, hesitantly, “I killed one more on my way through. I'm not sure about- ah.” His gaze went to something over Dean's shoulder. As much as it seemed like a really awful execution of the 'look, behind you!' trick Dean turned anyway. Shifting halfway so his back was to the wall and he could see both the kid and whatever he was looking at. It turned out to be a young woman, also carrying a bloody sword. “Clear?” The guy asked her.

“Clear,” She responded, “I got two of them.” She looked over at Dean, assessing him with a glance. He stared back, making sure to look bored and unimpressed. It was becoming obvious that these kids were hunters and good ones but he was Dean Winchester. She frowned at him. “I know you.”

Dean frantically tried to recall if he'd slept with her at some point. She did look familiar but she also looked too young, early twenties at most and frankly too memorable to not be instantly recognisable if he had.

“You're Dean Winchester.” She looked surprised and kind of impressed, then said to the guy. “You know, one of the Winchester brothers.”

“Right. I never know how you keep all those names and faces straight in your head.” The guy said to her as he grabbed a nearby dust sheet and began to clean the blood off his blade with practised efficiency.

“Are you on your own?” The woman asked Dean, ignoring the guy. With a sinking feeling Dean suddenly knew exactly what the next question would be. “I thought I heard you call out to Sam. Is your brother in here somewhere too?”

“No.” He answered shortly. “Gigantor here.” Dean gestured at the guy. “Just looked kinda familiar when he was standing in the shadows.” Out of there corner of his eye Dean saw the effect his words caused but didn’t understand it. The boy flinched and made a face so like Sam’s ‘bitch, please’ expression that it made the grief Dean was trying to ignore every minute of every day flare up. The girl flashed a momentary grin, so bright and wide it was stunning, and that was gone almost the same second it arrived.

“I thought you were out of the business now?” The Sam-a-like queried, obviously going for a subject change. Though Dean wasn't sure why _he_ should be the one who was uncomfortable. He was frowning at Dean like he was some puzzle that needed solving. Again, it was too much of a 'Sam' expression for Dean to hold his gaze.

Instead he snapped at the guy, irritated at the memories he was dragging to the surface. “The business? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Not one of his best lines but it would do.

The two of them exchanged a speaking look that Dean couldn't interpret. He turned his back on them with a disgusted snort and started to navigate his way out of the warehouse.

After listening to the kids follow him to the exit in uncomfortable silence he turned back to glare at them. “Look, I wasn't just going to let a couple of vamps chow down on the locals.”

“More than a couple.” The guy muttered under his breath. That earned him an elbow in the ribs from the woman.

She held out her hands in a placating gesture to Dean. “We didn't mean to barge in on your hunt or anything.”

“Whoopee for you.” Dean rolled his eyes as he shoved his way out of the broken warehouse door. Out in the sunlight the fear-induced adrenaline rush faded. He just wanted to get out of there.

“But what the hell were you thinking,” They'd followed him out, the woman barely pausing for breath at his sarcastic comment. “Going into a nest of vamps without backup, even if you thought there were only two?”

“Oh, screw you.” Dean said without heat. The tiredness of memory was taking over. He needed to get away from these kids who reminded him too much of Sam and Dad.

“We just saved you life.” The boy said, sharp and accusatory.

“And I'm ever so grateful.” Dean slammed the door of the Impala between himself and them. Tried to put them out of his mind as he gunned the engine.

~*~ ~*~

“Okay then,” Robert watched the Impala drive away from them with an impassive expression. “So that went well.”

Joanna dropped her forehead against his shoulder and started banging it repeatedly.

~*~ ~*~


	3. Hobbit time travel - If at first you don't succeed (The Hobbit B/T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was a bitter guilt that raged through Bilbo as he stood back to back with Fili defending the fallen bodies of the King under the Mountain and his younger heir. Separated from the rest of the Company and surrounded by Orcs Bilbo swung his glowing sword and despaired. They were losing. Even with three races fighting side by side they were still losing._
> 
> _Thorin would never get to see his mountain reclaimed._
> 
> _Bilbo turned to block an orc blade that was aimed at Fili’s throat. He succeeded but he never saw the one aimed at his own._

Bilbo fiddled with a sapphire he had inadvertently found by sitting on it, waiting for Thorin to wake up. Though he sat still his thoughts were running a mile a minute over all that had happened in the past few hours. Staring into the depths of the sapphire that reminded him of his friend’s eyes he wondered if Thorin would still be gold mad when he woke or if Bilbo had finally got through to him. The way he had grabbed his head and collapsed in the middle of an argument about whether the Men and Elves deserved a share of the gold suggested, at least, that something drastic was going on in the head of the Dwarven king.

Bilbo twisted the gem again, allowing it to catch the light, and thought about the rather sparkiler gem that was still in his pocket. If Thorin woke free of the madness should Bilbo finally admit that he had found the Arkenstone? Or would that merely push Thorin back into his previous state. And what if he woke still gold mad?

If Bilbo had still had possession of his ring he might have been able to sneak out of the mountain and down to where the Men and Elves were camped. The Arkenstone would have made the ideal bargaining tool. But the ring was lost. Somewhere in the river between Mirkwood and Lake Town it had fallen out of his pocket. So Bilbo would just have to think up some other plan, if it became necessary.

As if in answer to Bilbo’s troubled thoughts Thorin finally stirred, groaning and reaching for his head.

“What happened?” Thorin’s voice was thick and hoarse, as if he had been asleep for much longer than the few hours since he had passed out.

“You collapsed.” Bilbo said, not sure how much Thorin remembered or how much he should say.

“I don’t-” Thorin massaged his temples as he tried to sit up. Bilbo immediately moved to help him, one hand against his back, the other on his shoulder. “I do not quite remember, everything is fractured.” He looked sideways at Bilbo, frowning. “The dragon?”

“Bard of Lake Town slayed it after it left the mountain in a rage.” Bilbo kept his voice calm while inside his emotions were churning. Did Thorin remember nothing of the time while he was gold sick?

“Yes, yes that’s right.” Thorin stared down at his hands as if they were not his own. “I remember that. And Elves. I remember… being angry.”

Bilbo could not contain his snort of pained laughter at that but the look of startled fear that it caused on Thorin’s face froze him silent. Thorin pulled away from him, shifting backwards. 

“Did I-? Please tell me I did not hurt you- hurt anyone.” Bilbo noticed the correction but did not think much of it, all his attention on Thorin’s expression. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything remotely like fear on Thorin’s face before, even after all they’d been through on the quest. But even unfamiliar it was a good sign. Bilbo did not think the Thorin from a few hours earlier could have been scared for anything except the fate of his gold.

“You didn’t.” Bilbo reassured, noting the relieved slump of Thorin’s shoulders. _Though I am not sure how long that would have lasted,_ Bilbo thought but didn’t say. He could already see the guilt that was starting to weigh heavy on Thorin’s shoulders and he couldn’t bring himself to burden him further.

“Thank Mahal.” Thorin seemed to pull himself together, sitting up straighter. “The Elves and Men, are they still-?”

“Camped outside the mountain? Yes.” Bilbo went back to fiddling with his sapphire, not looking at Thorin as he shifted as if to stand up. He only looked back up when he realised Thorin had stopped mid-motion and was now staring at him.

“Why are you not yelling at me?” Thorin seemed to have got a better hold on his emotions now but Bilbo could still hear the confusion in his voice. 

“Should I be?” Bilbo kept his face and his voice blank.

Thorin’s eyes widened and his hand made an abortive gesture, as he wanted to reach out to Bilbo but thought better of it half way through. “Bilbo...”

It wasn’t the guilt and pain he could see on Thorin’s face that finally cracked Bilbo, it was the loss. He’d seen that expression before when Thorin was talking about Erebor and he never wanted to see it again. 

“You were gone.” Bilbo snapped. “You weren't you anymore. It was like back when we first met only worse because there was nothing beneath it. All you were was vicious pride and greed.” Bilbo clenched his hand tightly around the gem he was holding, trying fiercely to hold back the tears building behind his eyes. “And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't help you.

“But you did.” Now Thorin did reach out to him, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “What do you think released me from the madness? If not for you I would likely have been consumed by it.” Thorin squeezed his shoulders and then pulled him in. This time Bilbo returned the hug instantly, holding on just as tightly as Thorin was. “I am forever in your debt.”

Bilbo pulled back, letting out a choked laugh, still slightly teary but lighter than he’d felt in so long. “Well you can start repaying that debt right now by talking the two armies still camped at our gates out of attacking us.”

Thorin grimaced but let go of Bilbo and finally levered himself to his feet.

“Of course.” He held out a hand to Bilbo to help him up. “Let us go greet our... visitors.”

Bilbo stared at the offered hand for a moment, perplexed. Then he smiled for what felt like the first time in days and placed his own hand in Thorin’s. “Yes. Let’s.”

___

Thorin had not wanted Bilbo to go into battle. Bilbo had not given him a choice. He had however, agreed to wear the mithril chainmail after a brief argument over whether Kili should wear it instead.

It was a bitter guilt that raged through Bilbo as he stood back to back with Fili defending the fallen bodies of the King under the Mountain and his younger heir. Separated from the rest of the Company and surrounded by Orcs Bilbo swung his glowing sword and despaired. They were losing. Even with three races fighting side by side they were still losing.

Thorin would never get to see his mountain reclaimed.

Bilbo turned to block an orc blade that was aimed at Fili’s throat. He succeeded but he never saw the one aimed at his own.

___

Bilbo sat bolt upright in bed, his hand grasping for a sword that was not there. The battle! What had happened? For a moment he wondered if he had been knocked out and was now in a healer's tent. Then he looked around properly.

He was in Bag End. How on Middle-Earth had he got back here?

Shifting carefully in case he was still wounded Bilbo slid out of bed. To his surprise he did not even feel stiff, let alone in pain. How was that possible? He knew he had suffered many wounds during the battle. He was surprised he was still alive let alone feeling better than he had in almost a year. Why, he felt like he hadn't even been on the quest at all.

Bilbo froze and then began frantically pulling his nightshirt off. He dropped the garment without care and stared at his side. With shaking fingers he touched the smooth skin where there should have been a scar he had acquired during their encounter with the trolls. It had been his first and he felt a pang of loss. That emotion was soon swamped, however, by complete and utter panic.

He'd been sent back. He'd never believed his mother's strange Tookish myths and now he was living one.

Bilbo sat with a thud in the middle of his bedroom, put his head in his hands and tried to calm down. He needed to think. The sensible Baggins part of him was telling him that this couldn't possibly be happening. That Gandalf was about to walk in and tell him that he'd been unconscious long enough to be taken back to the Shire and incidentally Gandalf had healed all his wounds and scars and magically fed him back up to his previous weight. Bilbo let out a strained laugh at his own delusion.

He had to face facts. Bilbo had woken into a story. When he was younger his mother would tell Bilbo tales that her father had told her. About how sometimes an Elf or a Man or even a Dwarf would die too early while trying to complete some task that was important and instead of finding some other champion the Valar would send them back to try again.

From what he could remember of the battle Bilbo would not be surprised to learn he had died. What surprised him was that he would be chosen to try and make a difference. Surely Thorin would be a better choice...

Bilbo once again sat bolt upright. Thorin. The Dwarves, the quest. He needed to know when he'd been sent back to. If he was going to be redoing the quest over again he was going to be considerably better prepared.

After rushing out of his bedroom and then immediately rushing right back in when he remembered he was half naked Bilbo had a fairly uneventful morning. One slightly awkward discussion with Holman Greenhand and Bilbo had ascertained that he'd arrived back only a week or so before before Gandalf would arrive at his front gate. Bilbo wasn't sure if that was good or bad. On one hand it meant less time to fret over what was to come, on the other it also meant less time to enjoy being back in his comfy Hobbit hole. 

His first stop was to the food market to order up all he would need to put on a feast for the Dwarves when they arrived. He also put in an order for dried fruit and meat as travelling rations. His next stop was to a clothes store to commission some more appropriate gear. As much as he'd loved the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd run out his door last time if he ever had to wear them again it would be too soon. He'd actually shuddered when he'd seen them in his wardrobe that morning. 

His last stop was to the blacksmith. Though Hobbits were a peaceful race that did not use weapons they did do a lot of cooking. What that meant was that when Bilbo asked the smith to make him a set of knives, the longest only just shorter than Sting had been, he only received the mildest of questioning glances over the deadline that was imposed and nothing more.

Returning to his smial in time for lunch Bilbo took great pleasure in eating a massive meal and then settled in for an afternoon of letter writing. He'd been inexcusably negligent when last he'd run out his door. This time he was going to make sure to settle his affairs properly. Especially since, if this worked, he wasn't sure if he'd ever come back.

It was a week later when Bilbo shoved open the door to Bag End laden down with parcels. By that time he was almost entirely prepared to go gallivanting off across half of Middle-Earth to riddle with a dragon all the while trying to keep 13 Dwarves and a wizard from doing anything too stupid. Okay, so maybe he wasn't quite sure how he was going to go about that but he was bloody well going to try.

Dumping all his packages onto the table he began sorting them into piles of food for the feast or things that needed to be packed. His new knapsack would be considerably heavier than the one he had taken last time but it would be worth it. An extra set of sturdy travel clothes and his new knives were already in the pile and non-perishable rations were soon dumped on top. Bilbo had also stopped off at the apothecary at the last minute and purchased some medical supplies. While he trusted Oin as a healer you could never be too careful. His waterproof hooded cloak was already packed, in preparation for the week of rain, as was a ridiculous number of handkerchiefs. While he'd got used to not having one fairly quickly it seemed silly to not take some now he had the choice. His bedroll and and blankets were also already rolled and ready to be strapped to his pack.

Stepping back and surveying his preparations Bilbo allowed himself a deep sigh. There was not much he could do now but wait. And cook. For soon his home would be invaded by Dwarves.

So it was that when a knock came upon his door Bilbo was busy kneading bread dough and unbeknownst to him had flour on his nose.

Bilbo washed his hands off quickly and hurried to answer the door. Had he misremembered? Was this Gandalf two days earlier than Bilbo had expected him? He hadn't finished cooking yet!

In actual fact the person of his doorstep when he opened the door was even more unexpected.

"Thorin." Bilbo breathed in surprise before he could even think that he shouldn't. Thorin would not know him anymore and would not expect to be recognised. Oh, but this was going to be hard. 

At the sound of his name from Bilbo's lips the Dwarf in front of him, looking almost exactly the same as when Bilbo had first seen him, started in surprise, his eyes widening. Bilbo flailed slightly as he tried to think up a way to fix his blunder. In his defence he'd expected a little more time to mentally prepare himself for seeing Thorin again. What was he doing here so early?

"Ah, I mean, Master Dwarf! You have caught me unprepared. I had not expected you for two days hence."

"Master Baggins." Thorin bowed to him, which was strange enough, but there was also a peculiar light in his eyes that Bilbo did not recognise. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. But it seems you know me already."

Bilbo tried to keep his cool, he really did, but Thorin had always been able to fluster him and these were mighty peculiar circumstances. Frankly it was a surprise he was managing any sensible dialogue at all.

"Gandalf." Bilbo blurted out. "Gandalf told me."

The strange light in Thorin's expression morphed into amusement and he took a step closer into Bilbo's personal space. As Bilbo had long since learned not to back away when such a thing happened, he stood his ground. Which only seemed to amuse Thorin further if the slight twitch of a smile was anything to go by. What is going on, Bilbo asked himself, since when does Thorin smile?

"No, I don't think he did, little burglar. I think you remember." 

For a second Bilbo's brain refused to process what Thorin had just said. Then the enormity of the statement finally hit him. Bilbo maintained afterwards that his next action was entirely stress-induced. He flung himself at Thorin and hugged him as hard as he could. _I’m not alone. I’m not alone._

Thorin chuckled quietly in his ear as he raised his arms to hug Bilbo back. "Hello Bilbo, it's good to see you too."

___

Holding Bilbo in his arms, Thorin allowed himself one moment of weakness to be glad he wasn't alone. He would not wish the repetition of their quest on anyone, least of all Bilbo, but finding a Bilbo who remembered him was more of a relief than he ever expected. It had taken him some time to accept that he'd been sent back. Once he had though, the knowledge of what was to come had laid heavily on him.

Bilbo pulled away and swiped a tear off his face. "Goodness, we're still on the doorstep. Come in, come in."

Thorin allowed himself to be ushered into the hobbit hole, carefully removing and putting away his coat, boots and weapons. This was a changed Bilbo Baggins from the fussy creature he had first met, but he still remembered quite how aggravated Bilbo had been about the mess the Dwarves had made.

"So," Bilbo hovered at his side, wringing his hands. "Do you think anyone else came back, or is it just us?"

"The information I have discovered," or had made Balin discover and hadn't that been an interesting conversation to have without giving anything away, "Only talks of one champion being returned in time. I am surprised that even two of us have been sent. I doubt there will be more."

Bilbo's shoulders slumped. "Oh, well then. Never mind. At least I will have some help keeping everyone from getting themselves killed." His mouth curled up into a half smile showing his attempt at humour. Thorin had to stop himself from gaping.

"You still plan to accompany us, knowing how it has ended?"

"Of course." Bilbo puffed up in indignation. "Without me there you lot would be dead several times over."

“But now you know that I have returned also and can hopefully prevent the circumstances that required your assistance. You could stay here in the Shire.” It was an argument that Thorin had been having with himself for weeks; not only in regards to Bilbo but also his sister-sons. He was still conflicted.

Bilbo folded his arms and scowled. It was such a familiar sight that it almost made Thorin’s heart hurt to see it. “And what if you get into _new_ trouble and I’m not there to get you out of it?” Bilbo’s steady gaze suddenly flinched down to the ground. “If you do not want me to accompany you just tell me so.”

“No!” The denial was out of his mouth before he could even think what the best answer would be. He softened his voice at the way his outburst made Bilbo’s eyes go wide. “No, that is not- I merely fear for your safety. There is no guarantee that the ending will be any better this time around.”

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth before he finally seemed to get a hold of himself. “Oh, well then. Then I suppose we’ll just have to keep doing this again until we get it right.”

Thorin rallied his thoughts to argue further and then decided against it with a shake of his head. He’d learnt a lot on the quest about the stubbornness of Hobbits. At his obvious submission Bilbo raised his chin with a smug smile. The movement drew attention to a white smudge smeared across his nose. Was that flour? Without thinking Thorin reached out and wiped the smudge off. Yes, that was flour. Looking up at Bilbo in fond exasperation Thorin was surprised at the sudden blush heating Bilbo’s face before he realised what he’d just done. Then he felt a heat flush his own face and hoped to Mahal that it was hidden by his beard.

“You had flour on your nose.” Thorin was proud that all that showed in his voice was mild amusement.

“I- Oh! I was baking bread.” Bilbo reached up to touch his nose and then ran a hand through his curls a vaguely exasperated expression on his face. “Since I know they’re coming this time thought I should prepare to have my house invaded by a company of Dwarves.”

Thorin frowned at the phrasing. “This time? I know you were not aware of the details of the quest but surely Gandalf at least told you to expect us?” Just the thought of the company descending on Bilbo with no warning made him shudder, surely not… Bilbo laughed and Thorin’s stomach sank at the sound.

“You’d expect so, wouldn’t you.” Bilbo started to move towards where Thorin remembered the kitchen to be and Thorin followed him, listening in horrified silence. “But no. The first I knew of any of it was Gandalf showing up at my back gate that day asking after someone to share in an adventure. Of course I sent him on his way and thought that an end to it until there was a knock on my door. Imagine my surprise when on the other side of it is Dwalin.” Thorin winced and Bilbo must have caught the expression for he laughed again. “Yes. I’ve often wondered if my first impression of Dwarves might have been somewhat better if Balin had arrived before his brother instead of after.”

“Apologies.” Thorin said, a few things that had always confused him falling into place. “No wonder you did not wish to go with us after an introduction like that.”

“You’re just lucky I am more Took than Baggins.” Bilbo opened his oven and peeked inside. The smell that emerged was heavenly but Bilbo did not pull out what was inside. “Another five minutes at least.” 

“You have said something of the sort before.” Thorin commented, looking around the rest of the kitchen at the sheer busyness that seemed to indicated Bilbo was cooking for an army. “About being more Took than Baggins. What does that imply?” Thorin shifted around the kitchen to the sink as Bilbo bustled. 

“As a Baggins the only thing I should be concerned about is my own hearth and good food and safety. But the Tooks, that’s my mother’s side of the family, they’ve always been known as fairly adventurous and wild. I suppose I inherited-” Bilbo’s explanation cut of as he looked round and saw Thorin washing his hands. “Oh goodness, what am I doing? You must be tired after your journey and here I am wittering away and forgetting. We can-.” 

This time it was Thorin who cut him off, a hand coming to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder to stop him in place. “It is fine Bilbo, I would like to help if I may.”

“But,” Bilbo’s eyes widened. “You’re a guest.”

Thorin smiled wryly down at him. “Considering how your last guests acted I feel some reparations are in order.” Before Bilbo could object further at that Thorin continued speaking. “And while I am not as skilled a cook as you or Bombur I am perfectly capable of simple things.”

Bilbo opened his mouth as if to argue further and then seemed to give up. “Fine.” Then he squared his shoulders and poked a finger against Thorin’s breastplate. “But the armour comes off. You are not cooking in my kitchen in armour.”

Which was how, two days later, Thorin found himself covered in flour to the elbows in Bilbo’s kitchen kneading dough that would eventually become Dwalin’s favourite cheese scones, when there was a solid knock on the front door. Across the table Bilbo looked up and the smirk on his face a sight to behold.

“That’ll be Gandalf. I suppose I better go let him in.”

As Bilbo left the part of Thorin that was determined he should seem as unchanged as possible in this new timeline had a brief fight with the part that wanted to get revenge on Gandalf and his smug, know-it-all tendencies and lost. So Thorin carried on working on his scones and let the soft padding of Bilbo's footsteps lull him into memories of the past two days. Not only had those days been vastly different compared to the same days Before but they had also been different to any other day in his life. Even in Erebor, at the height of its glory did Thorin think he'd ever been quite so content as he had been waking in the guest bedroom of Bag End. 

The first evening after he had arrived he and Bilbo had sat down and schemed and pooled any plans they had each already made but after that Bilbo had insisted on a moratorium until they had something further to work with. Bilbo was adamant that over planning, especially when they didn't know how the changes they would make could affect events, was more likely to get them in trouble than not. So Thorin had woken, almost for the first time in his life, with nothing to do. He had spent most of the day in the kitchen helping Bilbo cook and talking, perhaps more than they ever had Before, even after they had become friends. 

Somehow, though it was as different from Erebor as night and day, Bag End had begun to feel like home. So much so that his immediate reaction to hearing Gandalf's voice was not excitement but resentment. He did not wish to leave.

It was that last thought that startled him out of his contemplation. It was wrong, he should not wish to stay anywhere but Erebor. Thorin hurriedly shoved the thought to the back of his mind as he nodded regally at the perplexed looking wizard being ushered in to sit at the kitchen table. He could deal with it later.

“Your Majesty.” The wizard seemed to collect himself slightly as he folded himself into the Hobbit sized chair. “I did not expect to find you here.”

Thorin set his dough on the top of the oven to prove and sat down in the chair opposite Gandalf as Bilbo collected the necessities for elevenses. In the last few days Thorin had learned a lot about Hobbit meal times.

“I thought I should come ahead and meet our fourteenth member.” Thorin plastered on a stoic expression over his internal amusement. Especially when Bilbo angrily plonked what Thorin recognised as his third worst teapot on the table with a glare in Gandalf’s direction.

“ And it’s a good thing he did, isn’t it?” Bilbo folded his arms to go along with his glare. “Since I knew nothing about this supposed adventure before Thorin arrived on my doorstep. Even though you’d named me as a supposed burglar weeks ago.”

Gandalf smiled calmly at Bilbo’s anger. “I had come to inform you now, my dear boy.”

“Don’t you ‘dear boy’ me Gandalf the Grey. Why-?”

“If I had told you before you would have worried yourself ragged. You are a Baggins after all.”

“Yes I am.” Bilbo finally sat down and started pouring the tea. “So why on Middle-Earth did you think I’d ever agree to run out my door on some wretched adventure?”

“Because you are also your mother’s son.”

Bilbo huffed but didn’t argue back so Gandalf turned his attention once again to Thorin, who had been watching the back and forth with hidden glee. 

“So you are satisfied with the burglar I have found for you, your majesty?”

“Eminently. Though I did have some trouble convincing him initially.” Thorin quirked a slight smile at Bilbo and received a sardonic one in return.

“Then it seems I am unneeded.” And that, it seemed, was the end of that. Gandalf lapsed into silence for the next fifteen minutes. Then suddenly Gandalf slurped down his tea, making Bilbo wince, and rose from the table. “I shall return this evening with the rest of the company.” He swept out.

Bilbo looked for a moment as if he was going to jump up and see him out. Thorin could actually see the moment Bilbo decided that if Gandalf was going to be an ungrateful guest then he didn’t have to be a good host. Instead he just called after him.

“Don’t forget the mark on the door. We don’t want anyone getting lost.”

Gandalf didn’t respond but then the comment hadn’t really been intended for him. Bilbo sniggered and Thorin had a horrible feeling that he’d failed to keep the wince off his face. Just before they heard the door open and close there was a brief crash. Thorin raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Chandelier.” 

Outside, Gandalf paused in carving the thieves mark to stare perplexedly at the door behind which there was suddenly an outburst of laughter. Since when did Thorin Oakenshield laugh?

___

Later that afternoon they made their way out into Bilbo’s back garden for one last weapons lesson before the others arrived that evening. One of the first things Thorin had insisted upon the first night was to go over Bilbo’s gear. Though he was vaguely miffed at the implication that even now he could not be trusted to make his own preparations he appreciated the concern. So Bilbo went along with it in good humour and handed over his brand new knives with only vague apprehension.

“They are acceptable.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

“They are of good steel.” Thorin explained. “And of decent make for non-dwarven crafting. Though I would ask that you allow me to sharpen them to a more appropriate edge for fighting.” He picked up the largest of the four knives again. “The other three would make for good throwing knives, they have the balance. This one.. you were trying to replace your sword?”

“As well as I could. After what happened I find that I miss having it by my side.” Bilbo gave a wry smile to accompany the admission.

“Then I have some good news.” Thorin handed Bilbo his knife back and turned to leave the room without explaining further. Confused, Bilbo followed to find him rummaging in the pack he had left by the door. When he pulled out a familiar sheath Bilbo gasped and hurried forward.

“Sting.” Bilbo’s voice was reverent as he reached for the sword that had become almost a part of himself. “How…? You went to find the Trolls?!”

“I did.” Thorin reached down to retrieve his own sword, which Bilbo now recognised as Orcrist. It was such a familiar sight that he had obviously overlooked it when Thorin first walked in. “Unfortunately I could not find a way to kill them by myself but I could distract them long enough to retrieve these.”

Bilbo pulled the sword and examined it. “We’ll just have to make sure to avoid them then.”

Which had been the comment which had started them off on an extensive planning session. Now, two days later, they sparred with their past and future swords.

“You’re getting better.” Thorin told him as they cleaned their swords. 

Bilbo raised a sardonic eyebrow at him in response. 

“Honestly, you are.” Thorin repeated. “You must remember, I am almost 200 years old and have been training with a blade for most of my life, while you have been training for less than a year. Trust me when I say you are improving.”

Bilbo sighed, “I just hope it will be enough. I’d rather not die defending your body a second time.”

Thorin stiffened. “You- You fell defending my body?”

Bilbo frowned in confusion at Thorin’s sudden change in demeanor. “Yes, yours and Kili’s, though I don’t know how. The last thing I remember is stopping an orc from cutting Fili’s head off and then I woke up in my bed.”

Suddenly there were arms around him and Bilbo almost dropped his now sheathed sword in his shock. “Goodness. Thorin, whatever is the matter?”

Thorin pulled back but only far enough to rest his forehead against Bilbo’s. “Everytime I think I know you, you surprise me again.”

“What?”

“You fell in battle defending me and my kinsfolk. For a Dwarf that is the ultimate declaration of loyalty. If we had not been returned in time, if any who knew had survived the battle," Thorin shut his eyes, his hands tightening on Bilbo's shoulders, "They would have honoured you in death as one one of our family.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

Thorin finally pulled away, smiling at him. “You do not need to say anything. In truth it will not change much as I am the only one who knows and there is nothing that could increase how determined I am to keep you safe. Although…” He trailed off.

“Although?” Bilbo questioned, his voice slightly hoarse from the emotion that was welling up in his throat. To hear Thorin declare him family, to be protected at all costs was a dangerous thing for his emotional stability.

“I would like give you a bead and a braid to signify your connection to my family.” His smile dropped slightly. “But the others would not understand and it could cause awkward questions.”

“We could hide it.” Bilbo blurted out, then bit his lip. He had not realised quite how much he wanted what Thorin was offering until it was suggested. “I mean, I have a lot of curls. If you put it underneath no one would know it was there except us.”

The smile Thorin gifted Bilbo for that statement was worth any awkwardness. “Yes, yes that could work.” Thorin squeezed his shoulders. “I am pleased you wish to wear our braid.”

“Well,” Bilbo tried not to blush. “I don’t really have much close family in Shire, not since my parents died and you all became very dear to me over the course of the quest…” He trailed off and gave an awkward shrug, trying not to feel unworthy in the face of Thorin’s fond smile.

“Then I will retrieve the bead right now.”

___


	4. Hobbit reincarnation (short) - Swords Entwined (The Hobbit B/T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It starts, as it always does, with a hole in the ground and a Hobbit. Though this Hobbit was a little different from other Hobbits. Oh, in his everyday life Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was a very respectable gentle Hobbit, if a touch anti-social at times. He tended his garden, greeted his neighbours politely whenever he saw them and ate seven meals a day off his mother’s china, of which he was very fond. It was only when it came to his dreams that there was anything at all strange about him._

It starts, as it always does, with a hole in the ground and a Hobbit. Though this Hobbit was a little different from other Hobbits. Oh, in his everyday life Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was a very respectable gentle Hobbit, if a touch anti-social at times. He tended his garden, greeted his neighbours politely whenever he saw them and ate seven meals a day off his mother’s china, of which he was very fond. It was only when it came to his dreams that there was anything at all strange about him.

For when Bilbo dreamed, he was not Bilbo anymore. 

He was still a Hobbit and he still felt like himself, but somehow he knew that he was not quite the same. And he did such un-Hobbitish things! In his dreams it would seem so natural to swing a sword, to wear a crown, to talk to Dwarves, to...love a Dwarf. It would seem so real that when he woke, it always took him a moment to remember where he was; in his smial, safe in the Shire. Then he would shudder at the things he’d seen and the things he’d done.

Once, when Belladonna was still alive his mother had encouraged him to write the dreams down, to try and make sense of them. Bilbo, who’d been a lot more adventurous as a tween, had done so out of Tookish curiosity. He regretted it later, after his parents died and he started to put his adventurousness behind him. It had only made the dreams seem more real. Like there were five or six versions of himself crowding his brain every time he woke up. As he aged, from 33 to 50, he even began to resent the dreams as they slipped into his everyday life, making it seem dull and stale. He’d tried to lock them away in his head, to forget them as soon as he woke, but sometimes he still reached to his side for a sword that wasn’t there. Sometimes he turned to speak to someone in his empty house.

But he was managing, until Gandalf brought 13 Dwarves to supper.

~*~

From a young age Thorin knew he was different. His mother had always told him how mature he was, even as a Dwarfling; serious beyond his years. But it was more than that. He knew things that he shouldn’t know, things he dreamed about and later found out were true. Sometimes his history lessons were so familiar it was like his tutor was talking about Thorin’s own life.

He’d thought it made him special. He’d thought it made him destined for something great.

Then the dragon came.

After Smaug, he’d known he was wrong. If he was special he would have been able to save his family, if he was special he would have been able to save his home. 

So Thorin cursed his dreams and pushed them deep down inside of him. Cursed them for giving him hope where there was none. Cursed them for distracting him with the image of honeyed curls and wicked eyes, a One to call his own. He vowed not to think of them again until he had reclaimed his home.

It worked, until he knocked on a round, green door and it was opened by a Hobbit.

~*~

The last thing Durin remembered was the Balrog. Actually, he could have sworn the last thing he remembered was dying but his thoughts were clear. There was none of the fog that reduced his thoughts and actions whenever he was reborn as a babe.

He wondered how he'd survived. Then he had a horrible thought. Where was his Hobbit?

His attempt to jerk upright to try and go looking for his beloved informed him that he was, in fact, injured. He did manage to get his eyes open though. The sight made him reach for his sword.

As soon he had opened his eyes and tried to move the group of unfamiliar dwarves surrounding him immediately broke into noise. Two that were close to his side and looked vaguely familiar cried out in relief. They were young and he wondered if somehow one of his kin had managed to produce dwarflings without him noticing, since at a glance the two seemed to favour his own line. A grey-haired dwarf with an ear trumpet tucked into his belt tried to push Durin back down, telling him not to move or to risk injuring himself further. He spoke in a familiar manner but Durin decided it must just be the dwarf’s usual bedside temperament as a healer, for he was sure he did not recognise him. The rest of the crowd of dwarves appeared to be calling out for someone else. Perhaps the leader of their group? For while they all looked only at Durin they all said the same name. 

Looking around further Durin noticed a familiar figure towering behind him and things began to make a bit more sense. He pushed aside the healer and pulled himself to his feet, his hand twitching to draw Orcrist from where he could feel it strapped to his back. Strange, he could have sworn he’d dropped it after one of the times that blasted creature had smacked him into a wall, but for now he would let it be. He had a far more pressing concern to worry about.

“Mithrandir," He addressed the wizard in a dangerous voice, "Where is Isengrim?”

~*~

The Hobbit had been given many different names over the course of all the lives he’d lived. His people didn’t tend to recognise his reincarnations, the way the Dwarves had always recognised his One.

None of the names had really mattered. The Hobbit had always known who he was.

Until now.

Something had gone wrong with the reincarnation cycle. He knew it, the way he had known his sword from the first touch of his hand against the hilt, the way he’d known his love as he watched him stand defiant against the Pale Orc. 

The way he didn’t quite know himself anymore.

Before, he’d always stayed himself, just more. Now, he had fifty years of being Bilbo Baggins layered over the top of everything else he was. Or maybe Bilbo Baggins had six lives of being Barand and Fíriel and Marroc and Bucca and Erling and Isengrim to remember. He wasn’t quite sure. He’d only come back to himself fully as he’d looked at Thorin Oakenshield, standing brave and determined in the face of his enemy and seen, for just a moment, a Dwarf from his dreams instead.

Bilbo shook himself out of the confusion in his head as a cacophony of shouts echoed across the Carrock. From the distance he’d retreated to in his distress he could only just see Durin through the crowd, but he could tell he was waking. 

Mithrandir stepped back slightly, allowing Bilbo a look at the face of his Dwarf. The scowl upon it was so familiar that Bilbo’s knees almost buckled in relief. There were pain lines across his face but no more. He would live.

If he was well enough to be grumpy and twitching for his sword then he would be fine.

Though he probably shouldn’t be standing so soon.

Bilbo made an aborted step towards Thorin as he levered himself to his feet, but he froze as he saw the expression the Dwarf turned on Gandalf.

That wasn’t Thorin.

Oh dear.

“Mithrandir, where is Isengrim?” Durin’s voice was dangerous as he addressed the Wizard, his inflection entirely different from Thorin Oakenshield.

Oh dear, Bilbo thought again. Somehow he got the feeling that Durin hadn’t regained his memories quite the same way Bilbo had.

Nothing for it though. Bilbo stepped forward into Durin’s line of sight, the two sides of him still conflicted.

“I’m here.”


	5. Kingsman time travel (short) - Option 3: f**king time travel (Kingsman E/H)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Eggsy woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up in bed._
> 
> _It only took one glance at his surroundings to realise that, oh, he probably hadn’t actually woken up. He felt like he was awake, but he was somehow back in his recruit dormitory with water rising around his bed, so Eggsy was going to go with very vivid dream. He'd had this nightmare before._
> 
> Warning for Eggsy's language. Also, I know nothing about the second movie.

Something was very wrong. 

Eggsy held up a hand and Roxy, creeping up the corridor behind him, stopped without hesitation and turned to cover the corridor as Eggsy edged open the door in front of him. There was a mechanical hum coming from behind it even though Merlin had assured them that there wasn’t going to be anyone in the lab at this time of night. Eggsy glanced at the time as he set his Kingsman issue watch to the amnesia dart setting. This time in the morning, he corrected himself as he slipped into the room.

He got one second to look at the extremely complicated and powered on and _fucking glowing_ device in front him and think _oh, fuck_ before everything went white.

Eggsy woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up in bed.

It only took one glance at his surroundings to realise that, oh, he probably hadn’t actually woken up. He felt like he was awake, but he was somehow back in his recruit dormitory with water rising around his bed, so Eggsy was going to go with very vivid dream. A second glance showed that there was Roxy, right where she should have been, and Amelia and Charlie fucking Hesketh. Charlie Hesketh who was definitely dead from an exploded head. Eggsy was 100% on that. He’d gone to check after he’d saved the world, just in case the bastard still had a face that Eggsy could have punched him in.

Definitely not awake, he’d had this nightmare before.

From there pretty much everything he did happened on instinct. Even though he knew it wasn’t real he wasn’t going to just sit on his bed and wait to wake up. Of course he was going to try. He always did when he had this dream, when he had the ones that were so much worse than this, even though he knew it wasn’t going to work. 

Eggsy jumped off his bed and shoved a mostly awake Roxy in the direction of the showers as he waded through the rapidly rising water to pull Amelia from her bed. By the time he’d untangled her from her (fake) struggling the water was reaching their chins. He pushed her in front of him towards where Roxy and Charlie had got the loo snorkels set up, ignoring the door and going straight for the two-way mirror. Normally by now something would have gone wrong with the dream but Eggsy was too hyped up to question it. He took a last gulp of air as the room finally filled to the top, then he grabbed hold of the sink to brace himself and punched.

Under the pressure of the water and the force of his fist, the mirror cracked and shattered.

It was only when he was gasping for breath with aching lungs, looking up at Merlin’s bland expression and trying not to notice the sting in his hand that Eggsy thought _oh, shit, I’m not waking up._

After Merlin had read everyone but Eggsy, and to a lesser extent Roxy, the riot act, something that Eggsy was too much in shock to enjoy, he’d bundled them off to individual rooms for the night while the recruit dormitory dried out. Eggsy sat on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. After putting together all the information he currently had he’d come up with three possible options.

Option one: the last three years of his life had been a very vivid and elaborate dream. Reason it probably wasn’t option one: how the fuck could his sleeping mind have known about the water test. Also, to a lesser extent, his dreams were never that vivid or easy to remember once he woke.

Option two: the mission he could remember being on before he ended up here had put him in a coma and he was still in it. Probably the most likely option but also see previous comment re. vivid and easily remembered dreams. Though, he’d never been in a coma before, maybe they were different.

Option three: somehow his consciousness had been dropped back into his own body roughly three years in the past. It was a ridiculous thought, he shouldn’t even be thinking it but once it had entered his head he couldn’t get it out again. If he was in the past he could change things. He could stop Valentine before he set off the signal. He could save Harry.

So, yeah. Option two was the most likely explanation but in that case he had nothing to lose if he acted as if he was living option three. If there was any, tiny, possibility that he really had come back in time, Eggsy was not going to waste the opportunity.

Which was why Eggsy immediately started to plan.

Because, you see, Eggsy wasn’t the same person he’d been last time he was a recruit. (For one thing he could compartmentalise a lot better now; gunning for option three meant actually believing option three, otherwise this was going to go tits up, fast.) He’d been an agent for two and a half years now and he was bloody good at it. After Harry’s death and the shitshow that was V-day, the newly christened Agent Galahad had been thrown in at the deep end and expected to swim for England.

The first part of the plan involved getting into Merlin’s system without Merlin knowing he was there. Normally, that would be just shy of impossible but Eggsy had an advantage. He knew Merlin’s password algorithm and Merlin didn’t know that. 

Eggsy dropped his blanket and shuffled in the direction of the bag of clothes he’d dumped next to the room’s desk. He leant over and grabbed a jacket, sneaking out a biro at the same time. Shrugging on the jacket he casually slouched across the room in the direction of the camera blindspot.

The first time he’d been in this room he hadn’t even noticed the camera but It had been one of the first things he’d spotted this time. He wondered why the camera system in a super fancy spy HQ like Kingsman would even have blindspots. Eggsy was just coming to the conclusion that they probably couldn’t be bothered to put a full setup in rooms only their own were ever likely to use, when he slumped against the wall in said blindspot and immediately froze. 

As his elbow had clipped the wall there had been a telltale echo.

Eggsy couldn’t contain his snort of laughter. Of course. Of course it wouldn’t be the lazy option. Of course it would have to be the super paranoid option. Turning to the wall Eggsy felt around, knocking gently until he figured out where he needed to press to get the secret panel to open up in front of him.

So, the blindspot was deliberate. It was meant as a way for agents to fight back if there was ever a hostage situation in HQ because Merlin, the paranoid bugger, had left a small arsenal and an electronic access into the system in every fucking room in the manor. Of course he had. As Eggsy stared into the secret cache he let a fond smile cross his face at the thought of Merlin installing all of them. He’d known about the caches, Merlin himself had shown Eggsy and Roxy the ones in each of their offices, as well as the round table room. What Eggsy hadn’t realised was that Merlin had been quite so...thorough.

Eggsy sent up a thank you to whatever luck was watching over him and reached into the cache. He didn’t touch the pistol or the lighter grenade, no matter how much better he would have felt armed. The only thing he took was a tiny, almost invisible earbud, for use when glasses would be too conspicuous. Sticking it in his ear, Eggsy took one look at the keypad access panel, took the cap off his pen, rolled up his sleeve and went to work.

It had taken Eggsy almost a year to figure out the algorithm Merlin used for his passwords. When he’d first started the exercise, bored of medical leave and armed only with a couple of video recordings of Merlin typing out different long strings of numbers, he hadn’t even known what an algorithm was. But he’d persevered and the satisfaction of being able to use Merlin’s own codes had been worth it for two brilliant months until Merlin had figured out what he’d done. That ruined everything, not because of the bollocking he’d got about it, but because what had taken Eggsy nearly a year to decode, Merlin could change as easily as he changed passwords. And he changed passwords every bloody day.

It had got him some respect around the tech department, so it wasn’t a total loss. And if this really was 2015 again then Merlin hadn’t changed it yet.

Eggsy scribbled on his arm as he calculated. He had a hairy moment right at the beginning when he had to struggle to recall what the date should be in 2015 before he remembered he could check his phone. Then he was off and running.

_Today’s date, how far away is it from the anniversary of Merlin joining Kingsman, integrate that with the date of Merlin’s parents’ wedding anniversary.._. Eggsy bit his lip to keep himself from muttering out loud as he worked. _...times by ‘87, the best vintage of Merlin’s favourite scotch, and carry the two, times by how old Harry is right now… Nope._

Eggsy licked his thumb and rubbed out the number he’d ended up with. That wasn’t right. He traced back up the messy calculations with the tip of his pen. Ah, there. Carry the two again, properly this time, then times by Harry’s age...that was better.

Eggsy grinned to himself and typed the string of digits he’d ended up with into the keypad. It swung forward on silent hinges and Eggsy felt a surge of elation that he was right. Pulling his smartphone out of his jacket pocket, he linked it up with the system. He had to use the cable connection because his phone wasn’t exactly Kingsman issue at the moment but it didn’t matter. Using Merlin’s password meant he would have access to everything.

He swung the keypad closed again, making sure everything except the earpiece was exactly how he had found it before closing the secret panel as well. With exaggerated slouching he crossed the room back to the bed and flung himself down on it. Grabbing the pillow he made himself comfortable facing backwards on the bed so the camera wouldn’t be able to see his phone screen, then he started pulling up files.

He had recon to do.


End file.
